/lit/ - Literature

>>13974840
Pls rate these two poems

Morphine
One day, no wonder,
as times were bleak
man was to ponder
what's to seek;
was it Stoics' noble pain relief
or Christians' light that shines in Grief ?
The dying man's bliss, his sleep
he found in sorrow.
The drug tenacious in its grip,
its effects narrow,
we bow our heads and drown
in heaven, rests our frown.
The pilgrims crawl down the plank
A burdern on their shoulders
They don't slack
It's coal they carry, the dockers.
A ship awaits tucked
Between the waters,
Exhausted by each heave
A load of charcoal and then another,
Filled the vessel, it will leave
Every docker gained a quarter.

>>13974891
Shoot forgot to separate em

Tthe pilgrims part is a separate one.


Should I sontinue writing or renounce poetry.
Any potential ?

>>13974891
I like the first one cause I read Morphine like it was supposed to be an invoking of a goddess, cause it was capitalized I didn't realize it meant the drug. I like the idea of exploring drugs as man's boredom with reality started to get to be too much. Maybe research more into the drug itself, and its effects, and explore more the sadness behind having to resort to this drug. The references to philosophy seem shoe-horned into the poem, like a flippant attempt at seeming worldly, maybe tie in more elements throughout. The beginning is also not gripping, like I had to force myself to read the next lines (maybe I'm tired and lazy, but i like when a poem is powerful throughout with blinks of greatness, not meandering into goodness). If you like what you're doing, don't let anyone stop you. Also, I wouldn't look to 4chan for positive encouragement if that's what gets you to work.

>>13974970
Thank you, unfortunately I don't know anybody I could show it to irl or on the internet.
Maybe I'll keep writing from time to time, we'll see how it goes

It was carla in the other room cooking her breakfast. The pops of butter had emulated, almost embodying the unstable beat of rain in his, and so, ashing his now third cigarette, he archs his neck out the crack of the door and into the gloom of day so as to conclude too himself there had been no more rain. He did this three times. He would have done it twice moreover to reach a comfortable five if it hadnt been for carla, who now stepped in placing two plates of egg, ham and toast on the floor next to him.
"Thought i said i wasn't hungry."
She grabbed from him his mug that contained the remnants of his coffee, now cold, and left the room shouting how she hadnt cared what he said, returning with hot coffee in a new mug. Carla loved hunter and would've like to have filled his mug before the liquid grew cold and in fact wouldve loved of him to have come from out the back room to help her cook breakfast. But she thought him more quiet than yesterday and hadnt the courage to break his thought and so she waited for the food to be cooked. The two of them ate in mostly silence and she wondered why, "why is he so quiet today? What is he thinking of?"
Carla, more than with anyone else, more than in any crowd had felt an acute sense of sonderness while with hunter then. A break of identity where only their love for one another hangs in the space like the bird outside on the wire. She quickly eats her meal, letting hunter know that shes going to take a shower and get ready because they'll have friends over. "You not hungry?" She asks. His meal lay half eaten beside him. He couldnt finish it, he couldnt speak, all he wanted and could think to himself was sticking his head out the crack twice moreover to level it out five times. Five times he wanted it, or more so needes it. Carla walked away almost unanswered, when she stops and tenderly lets out the words "love ya hunt" then waiting only a moment longer, lingering in the doorway for him to say it back, continues her pace. And he does say it back. He listened as her feet stepped along as his excitement flared up to that of a sexual lust because now soon he would be able to assuage the predisposition too terror and suffering that tingled along the insided of his belly and head that if he didnt get tbe opportunity of twicemorever someone he loved somewhere would die because of it. He stuck out his head once, than twice. Hunter had gotten bis relief.

First time writing third person so.

>>13974840

Take your pick.

Any feedback on this would be greatly appreciated, I'm trying to improve my skills as a poet so don't hold back in your criticism.
- O Dearest Dread
To withered hearts euphoria nears,
Amidst the dim a private resort,
The stars a vast sea of chandeliers
In flight of thine exultant cavort,
The repose of this sacred locus
Is known not by the ennui of words,
But rejoice when it comes to know us,
And a divine sensation is stirred!
In a personal tide this river flows,
With pulchritude, as in a graceful stave,
Adorned in foreign jewels and silken clothes
As it faintly rolls, like a spectral wave,
And so we frolicked, insouciant
To our lives' ephemerality,
My unknowing love the salient,
And myself within spectrality.

>>13974840

Things


I did this thing the other day. It was ok. Haven’t thought about it since. Now I’m doing something else. Probably do it later too, but can’t be sure. Don’t know how long I’ll be doing this. Then I’ll be doing another thing. Might be doing the same thing.

In the dead of winter, during the time when the lake freezes over and the air becomes painful to inhale, I heard the most unexpected of all sounds: a knock on the front door. After a moment of hesitation, I opened it. Through the icy haze I saw an elderly man wearing a thin woolen coat. He looked about seventy-five years old, and a little nervous and tired; the snow had been deep enough that it covered the skin to the bones.
"May I come in?" he asked in a voice not of someone near death, but of someone who died long ago. We stared at one another for a long time.
"Alright, you can come in," I finally responded. He nodded in recognition, but did not smile. He hobbled over to the fireplace and began warming his frigid limbs. I sat on the couch and watched him.
"I'm sorry to intrude like this," he started "but I really had nowhere else to go."
I watched him carefully, trying to decipher [if] what he told me was true. I suppose that didn't matter (if I hadn't let him in he would have died on my porch), but I was still concerned about having welcomed a dishonest man into my home. For the most part, though, I was in the quiet, contemplative position I was in when I received him. I wanted him to speak more about himself, but his rickety body was on the verge of falling unconscious. So I just sat and watched.

I swear, the snap will break—
"I felt so pregnant," I hear her say
through the box, the slit, the sole
of sky's feet. Our organs
have failed the rear end users,
they have consumed the image—
a picture of perfect light,
how the ease of tragedy mollifies peace.
Can't some message befall the ears
of a sunken young man casting his vote
into the foaming void, a symphonic static
of Sisyphean proportions and cellophane glee.
"The silk has torn, the stains total," a sign says.
If the stain covers the whole garment,
if a stain covers the whole—yes, you.
The writer talks to himself.
Please don't mind him.

>>13975021
v dated and therefore contrived. where's any sign that it was written in 2019? moden poetry, in order to be timely (and imo good), should have some kind of indicator that it's been written today, rather than 1862. When it comes to art, the world wants nothing but the new.

>>13975013
you funny fuck so funny fuck how can i match your funny epicness im rolling over lol my sides are in O R B I T please father my children you're so fucking funny

>>13975192
I like it

Hilarious Haiku #2

Why can't I donate
my suicided body
to some company?

Try to weather
This boat of ours together
Light as a feather,

Waves to weather this
Leaf boat of ours together
Light as a feather,

>>13974840
God she is perfect

Are short haired girls /lit/ approved?

>>13975433
who gives a shit

>>13975433
Yes. Now stop

>>13975433
Yes. Did Weininger write about this? Are there any books on this phenomena (if I should call it that)?

>>13975433
Only homosexuals like women with short hair. Nauseating.

>>13975021
>In flight of thine exultant cavort
you shouldn't try so hard dude; this is hardly natural

>>13975573
You're projecting my man.

>>13975589
I'm not "your man" you rank homo. Women with short hair are characteristically masculine.

The goddesses
Whisper, then shout, of war

I buffer between
Cigarettes and the Aeneid
While Donald Trump holds
The nuclear football

Laying back on the veranda
A dog barks
The lower classes
Insulated from international qualms
We buy and buy in the by and by
While Syrian children know nothing of
Black Friday savings and
Two Christmas' with divorced parents

The gap between us,
Between rich and poor,
Between the disadvantaged and the privileged
Is wider than border to border,
Than ground to sky,
But I suppose
It's all just something to tweet about

No wonder that a whole generation
Has the attitude of: "Fuck This Earth"

>>13974997
Try to write, for a change, short and sweet, simple stories for children. I think a dose of simplicity is what you need.

Heavy eyes. Low and monotone rumbling, set mechanical. A pristine sunrise, languid through the curtain, filtered to drab as you secede from some now-worthless dream, long lost in a second, and join the here - a yore train compartment, air stale by a thick mort of dust. Decay of decays, low Siberian pride.
On opposite sides, perpendicular to the window, lay dormant two mattress-sofas, paltry just enough to permit only an unrested slumber. Between them a flimsy travel table, cork in touch, propped up with a thin tinware strut growing from under the window. Small heater under it. Out to your right - unpartitioned - the corrior-drome.
The colours are all faded, the fabric faint and spent, deatails in wood and metal gone or in the process of, everything ornate is to die, you think, you would think, you would've thought, had it not been for this time, this journey, an exascale comedy of one singluar error: submitting to it. It's too much, but //it's// is a rune. Look down now.
The travel bags, hefty and dense, fabric stretched to its apex, tumoring with items of convenience and necessity stuffed haphazard inside, reside between your legs as you sit bent over, head down and affixed to the ground, mind slowly coming to. There are two of them, each one barly able to be carried by you, let alone by what you are right now. You rise your head up, involuntarily.
He sits right before you, the man.
Worn-out and grey, half-dead in the orange sun, basking in an inglory only he knows, he turns his head slowly, staring at you either in judgement or in prayer. Eyes brutish in tears, now passionate with nothing. Light dances through the creases in his hands, casts bizarre, half-opaque shadows - shadows of shadows - on his face.

>>13975618
pic related is still more attractive and feminine than any girl youve banged just admit it

>>13975646
She's not that particularly feminine, compadre. Attractive sure, feminine not as much.

>>13975151
>the snow had been deep enough that it covered the skin to the bones.
This line does not fit the tone of your prose, it's too artsy. Too much thinking and too little going on towards the end.

>>13975635
Not entirely a bad idea. Thanks for the imput. Did you find it well written?

>>13975656
what do you consider feminine? She has very neotenous facial features but a developed female body

>>13975646
“Feminine” means something different for every man. Men seek complements, and this woman is obviously a complement to a homo. There is no need to assert your sexual idiosyncrasies as universal.

>>13975687
>imput

god i am smart and funny for this comment

>>13975700
>this woman is obviously a complement to a homo

>>13975702
Yes. Very.

>>13975710
Ridiculously beautiful

>>13975710

Here's another sample of my writing.

>>13975712
Thank you. The construction of my comment was a process. First, I tapped into all my knowledge of Ancient Sumerian literature, then masturbated, proceeded by a lengthy consideration of Aphorism 281 of Nietzsche's Will to Power. After that, I burned every copy I had by Aquinas and ate the ashes, after which I vomited and ate the vomit (as one should). By then, the comment was in a story of gestation, whereby visions and hallucinations began to come to me. One was of Juno, and she said to me: "son of my loins, progeny of my egg, go forth and speak truth to the masses, for you are my emissary and the world shall embrace you." I was doubtful, but luckily I was graced with 14 nymphs to assuage my heart. After 8 had blown 14 loads into 14 nymphs of Juno, I was finally ready to post, but nothing could have prepared me for the captcha to come. Not only did I have to discern which areas contained crosswalks, but I also had to provide an interpretation of Hegel's Phenomenology of Spirit in only 3000 words or less. A tall order for sure.

>>13975433
Ew

>>13975687
It is an exhausting read, I can tell you that much. I rather like the breathlessness of some sentences though, for example: "Carla loved hunter and would've like to have filled his mug before the liquid grew cold and in fact wouldve loved of him to have come from out the back room to help her cook breakfast. But she thought him more quiet than yesterday and hadnt the courage to break his thought and so she waited for the food to be cooked." Not bad.

Other sentences feel very overwritten and are barely readable, like "The pops of butter had emulated, almost embodying the unstable beat of rain in his, and so, ashing his now third cigarette, he archs his neck out the crack of the door and into the gloom of day so as to conclude too himself there had been no more rain." What?

It feels like you want so much, but you cannot hold it all; and instead of taking your time, going back and forth, you take and take and keep taking until all falls down and is lost. Big words, big emotions, big ideas, ...

>>13975699
She has a relatively pronounced jaw—so, softer angularity of face would be a good start. Marilyn Monroe is a good example of a clearly feminine appearance.

>>13974840
look at that disgusting skin.
she is well below my standards.

>>13975849
Monroe has if anything a more masculine chin and jaw

>>13975433
>>13975455
>>13975460
>>13975501
>>13975573
>>13975585
>>13975589
>>13975618
>>13975646
>>13975656
>>13975699
>>13975700
>>13975710
>>13975720
>>13975728
>>13975833
>>13975849

Jesus Christ, shut the fuck up. This is a critique thread, not an opportunity to share your pathetic sexually frustrated opinions on women. The fact that a single picture of some barely fuckable tumblr pixie meat gets posted and half of you have to crawl out of the incellated woodwork to leak your lousy loads onto the keyboards is seriously a problem. It's a problem for you individually, and now that it's affecting this thread and many like it, it's a problem for me. If you can't control your hormonal Tourette's and stay on topic then go to another fucking board or rent a bloody hooker.

>>13975900
>>13975908

>>13975908
what a homo

>>13975843
Hey man this is the kind of response i was looking for. I appreciate you taking the time too read and also write a critique on my writing sample.
>not bad
I aslo appreciate the compliment.
I meant to say the beat of rain created in his mind.
I do see what youre saying though, the overwritten part. Ill have to slow down and really think of what my words are trying to get across. Thanks mate. If you have something written you'd like an opinion on id be glad to give my shitty thoughts on it, not that they mean much lol.

>>13975948
Fucking love the internets

>>13974840
Why has God cursed me to be attracted to women who look like 12 year old boys?!

>>13975908
Women are beautiful ok. It's something a lot of us are passionate about

>>13974840
>>13975433
>>13975646
>>13975710
>>13975728
>>13975900
>>13976319
MORE WOMEN FACES

>>13975908
Actually based.

>>13975908
>>13976336
do you guys actually jerk off upon seeing pics of women's faces?

>>13976366
You don't?

"Listen, cunt, if I hear another word about touching your butt and eating pizza I will abscond most assuredly." He said, reconsidering whether a girl who wanted you to limp-wristedly smack her butt was really as into BDSM as she purported.

He was born with good genes, yes: strong jawline and a full head of hair, but most of his success with women came from his mixed drug-use; cocaine in clubs, and bebop in all other situations. If he were a thinking man, he would have realized the fact that this was not strictly true: most of his conquests came by the way of emulating the various men his mother brought to his childhood home.

Recently he has noticed the trend that girls on the horse were, as a general statement, rather thin, however as his dealer was white and not a loser he couldn't score any heron, bro, so this left him frustrated as he was unable to find any other slim girl.

This was not what was going through his head at the moment, however. What the fuck is that bitch doing? She's taking off her clothes, even after he said those true (but mean) things to her. Wow, she really comported with the BDSM scene, after all.

>>13976319
Go be passionate about it somewhere else where the topic of conversation isn't literally literature.

>>13976336
>>13976366
>>13976380

You're not funny so shut your fucking face and post poetry and/or prose


Here's a poem I wrote:

Fresh flowers by the bedside
A cold dream swirling the nightscape—
How can the fiends flounder
when their wake ignites their own swipes at the gate?
The center trembles as the gentle breeze breaks
At their atoms of simply styled petals dressed in grey.
All the people wonder why the sky is red—
All the people wander while they lie in bed
Staring at a ceiling caked
In buttresses flying at the gates.
Hold my beer, the summoner says—
Hold his beer, the wonderers do
Spilling a mountain of mountainous dew.

>>13974840
It starts off as this quiet, low, hum. This quiet hum he can ignore but everyday it gets a little louder and a little bigger until he almost feels like he’s going to be engulfed, and then he finally acknowledge the hum although really it’s more like a metaphorical jet engine kind of sound at this point so he goes to a place that’s completely alone and he listens. For the first time he listens to it. And he stared straight ahead at his wall. He tried to cry, and did, but then went back to staring. Because nobody knows what else to do at that point. It won’t stop, it just won’t stop, why won’t it stop the the wall asked.

>>13976652
Is this about doing DMT?

>>13977017
More so about the relationship between society and the ostracized individual, but I can see why you'd think that. Any thoughts? I despise my writing and will take any advice on how to improve at this point.